


Founded in Our Roots

by Geo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "Indeterminable" House, BAMF Draco Malfoy, Based on Film Canon, Blood and Gore, Drama, Drarry, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Inter-House Relationships, Less of a Git Draco, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Torture, Trauma, op draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geo/pseuds/Geo
Summary: During the final battle, Draco Malfoy remained to watch Potter finish off Voldemort.After all the pain, the suffering, the torture, the death, he wanted to see Voldemort fall with his own eyes. However, he saw something else, and when he blindly saved Harry Potter, he was transported to the past, all the way to first year.With no way back to his present, as if he wanted to go back, he aimed to make up for last time. He was going to right the wrongs and make sure Voldemort is defeated once again, but this time with limited casualties.However, it turns out that his "well formulated plan" to save everyone possible leads him into the main fray, alongside Potter and the so-called Golden Trio, and against his father and Lord Voldemort.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 37
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another story for everyone. I have been on a Harry Potter kick recently, so expect more fics on the series. Anyway, any thoughts or suggestions?  
> Hope all is well. Enjoy.

**Chapter 1:**

He was waiting for the inevitable. He was waiting for it all to come crashing down, for Potter to fail and Voldemort to succeed.

His gut was churning as they all looked on at the two wizards, wands clashing and sparking before them. One wrong move and Potter could falter and it would all end there. The Dark Lord would take over, simple as that.

_ That  _ is why he remained.

He had a chance to leave with his mother and his father, a clear getaway from backlash or Voldemort’s potential win. Yet, he stayed. He had to see it out. After all the pain, the torture, the stress, the  _ death _ , he wanted to see it all end.

He wanted Potter to win, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

The battle was nearing its end, and Voldemort was the one crushing under the strain. They all witnessed his wand burst and Potter’s connect. Everyone seemed ready to cheer as Voldemort presumably fell and was destroyed, but Draco noticed something peculiar.

It was not Potter or the connection but Voldemort himself that concerned Draco. Voldemort’s power oozed from his body, getting bigger and darker; it was a giant, threatening mass. Then it shot toward Potter, who could only widen his eyes and take the hit.

However, Potter did not have to because someone else stepped into it.

Draco Malfoy could not explain why he did it; it simply happened. At one point he was standing, linked arm and arm with his mother, then he was over in the midst of everything. He had sprinted and crashed headlong into Voldemort’s power, saving Potter from whatever last ditch effort Voldemort had planned for him.

The instant the Dark Lord’s remaining magic hit him, Draco gasped.

The pain was unimaginable, and his body spasmed uncontrollably.

He could have sworn people were screaming, or maybe he was. Everything was spinning, until it went dark.

Then he fell.

He barely caught himself in the next moment. He wobbled. Light flooded his senses, causing him to blink the dark spots from his vision. He could see Hogwarts, yet it wasn’t exactly a piece of rubble it had just been. It was something different, bright and clean.

A single statement brought him out of his head. “I think I can spot the wrong sort, thanks.”

Draco glanced around and located the source. _ What the hell? _

A tiny little Harry Potter stood before him, determinedly staring into his eyes. His blue eyes were steel. It was as if he could see through him, see everything he did behind closed doors.

Draco was honestly terrified, but instead of showing it, he glared down at him. He retrieved his hand, which apparently had been hanging in the air untouched. He gritted his teeth, ready to say something or anything, until he felt a  _ tap, tap  _ to his shoulder.

He turned and saw Professor McGonagall.

“Come along students,” she instructed, breaking the forming tension between him and Potter. Her command spurred the group of children into movement, heading up the stairs in a mass behind her.

Draco recognized all of these students, but not quite like this. He recalled them being older, more marks of the stress of the soon-to-be war, more war-torn. However, they weren’t. They were all younger and stress free. They were all excited about even the prospect of Hogwarts.

_ What did this mean? _

_ Was this a dream? _

Draco had no idea.

Needless to say, Draco Malfoy was confused about the circumstances. However, he opted to go along with the horde and of all his young friends, enemies and acquaintances, instead of dawdling on the stairs.

That did not mean he stopped thinking about his predicament on the way up the stairs. No, his tired mind was trying its best to connect everything he just experienced within the past five minutes. His feet sluggishly followed with the group as his mind kicked itself faster, straining and causing him an instant headache. He glanced around, feeling an odd sense of deja vu.

Everyone was chittering and talking excitedly, faces brilliant, and for some reason, Draco’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He felt like he was going to throw up all over the people in front of him. He felt like he was going to burst into tears, or maybe he was going to do a little of both. He couldn't tell anymore.

All he could sense was an asinine suspicion on his part. It was unfathomable and unrealistic. Yet, it would seem one of the only things that he could guess. He shook his head, trying to forget the slithering feeling slinking up into his brain.

The collection of students all paused in unison, so Draco did as well, momentarily fidgeting, tapping a finger to his arm. Of course he could have slipped into a coma and this was his brain’s awful way to punish him, making him trudge through all his years and force him to do everything over again.

He nearly flinched at imagining doing  _ everything  _ over, especially his last year. His body tensed on its own accord at that wretched thought. He exhaled softly as the group started up again, heading toward the Great Hall, a way Draco knew by heart now.

They reached the Great Hall and Draco had to pause in his footing. The suspicion seized hold of him before he could stop it. What if he wasn’t in a coma being forced to attend Hogwarts again, but he was physically there instead? Is time travel even a remote possibility?

Draco wanted to deny that, but even after pinching himself (yes, he is aware that it was childish, but he was at odds on what else to prove he was awake), he could not rule it out completely. His feet trudged after the group, remaining in the middle of the crowd as they walked over to where the sorting hat was.

Draco’s eyes settled on the chair as they announced names and each sat down to receive their sorting. From what Draco remembered they all sorted the same way as before, but his memory could be faulty. He wasn’t certain.

His name was called, and he stood up, making his way to the chair. As soon as he sat down the hat would yell out, “Slytherin”, and he would simply head over to his rightful table. He climbed onto the chair, taking his time because he was still a bit wobbly. He was technically in his own body, but it just felt off, too low to the ground, too short, too  _ weightless _ .

He sat down, sensing as the hat began to lower above his head. He gazed at the crowd of familiar yet not familiar faces, skittering to land on his soon-to-be friends in Slytherin, his enemies, Potter and his soon-to-be inseparable and insufferable group. He almost sighed, but instead he clenched his jaw, eyes stupidly locked onto Potter and the Weasley.

A pang hit him suddenly. If this were the past, that means they will be sorted into Gryffindor, and they would fall into the line they have always landed in. Draco would push and hurt Potter, while Potter would either give it back to him or ignore him. That wouldn’t do if Draco was meant to change anything.

That is, if he truly was in the past.

Draco’s brain halted, going back a few steps. Wait, did he want to change to be the one to change everything? He frowned. Even if he wanted to, he doubted he could. He shook his head, just as the Sorting Hat landed on his head, pushing him out of his own head.

_ Just say Slytherin, _ he prompted the Hat. It was where he was picked last time, so he just wanted it over with. His mind then snapped back to Potter and his friends. They’d be in Gryffindor, while he went to Slytherin. That thought crossed his mind yet again.

“Slytherin,” the Sorting Hat said, and Draco almost stood up without letting him finish. However, the Hat continued to speak, causing Draco to pause and try to glance up at it in silent question. This was new. “Slytherin, eh? Hm, not so fast. Let’s see what else is there.”

Draco was momentarily at a loss. “Excuse me?” He questioned quietly, forgetting that the others could hear him, despite his quietness.

“You have hidden courage here,” the Sorting Hat continued, not allowing a response. “Maybe Gryffindor will be best suited for you.”  _ Potter --  _ “Yes, that is if he is selected there.” Draco flinched, reigning in his thoughts. “There is a studious mind here as well, maybe Ravenclaw would bring you to greatness.”  _ Unlikely, they didn’t put as much interest in the war so that wouldn’t help me enough _ , Draco couldn’t help himself but think. “Hm, the war you say.”

Draco sank just a bit in his chair, eyes searching the crowd, who were as owls. They blinked up at him, silent.  _ Oh, god. _ He really hoped they didn’t ask. His brain trapezed to the war on its own accord. He scrambled to say or do something to dissuade the Hat from seeing anything or feeling anything. “Just put me in Slytherin,” he stated, glancing up at the Hat again. “We both know that’s where--”

“You think you know where you belong? Interesting.” The Hat shifted on his head, almost as if peering down at his face. “Do you know you recently displayed some Hufflepuff qualities, Mr. Malfoy?”

“If you’re going to put me as a Huffle-” Draco scrunched his nose up at the Hat. That is not where he wanted to go. Imagine a Malfoy as a Hufflepuff; his father would be furious. He bit his lip at the thought of his father, drifting back to right before he stupidly saved Potter.

“Hufflepuff does sound as if suited to your goals. Dedication, hard work.”

Draco hissed between his teeth, as quiet as he could manage. “They weren’t that involved either.” How was that supposed to help him change anything? He paused, brain zeroing in on Slytherin, chanting it, commanding the Hat to put him there.

“You think you deserve to be placed in Slytherin?” The Hat questioned him, and Draco’s mouth went dry. It may not have meant to sound disgusted, but Draco felt like the Hat was. His mind replayed through the question again, rotating it and jumbling it up in a way best suited for him.

_ Do you think you deserve anything you want? _ Draco sighed.  _ Maybe I don’t deserve anything.  _ He saw his friends from Slytherin drift away. After everything, maybe he didn’t, and just because he thought he could change the past, doesn’t mean he is capable of doing it. Potter and his friends, they could, but Draco--

“I have come to a decision,” The Sorting Hat announced. Draco had momentarily forgot where he was, but he then strengthened, head shifting up, imitating pride. He figured he had been adamant enough that he would be chosen for Slytherin, but he was much less certain now.

The Sorting Hat paused, letting everyone’s minds wander on to where Draco Malfoy was to be sorted. They held their breath.

The Hat finally answered the question everyone was wondering. “Indeterminable House.”

No one cheered, and everyone was silent at the announcement. Draco was the first to move. He blinked. _ What?  _ A camera flash blinded him and that knocked movement and hushed whispers into the Hall.

“You are indeterminable. Therefore, you cannot be placed.” Professor McGonagall clarified behind him, lifting the Sorting Hat from his head. More whispers erupted from her admission. She looked as speechless as the rest, but she pushed through. “This is highly unorthodox,” she admitted. “For right now, Mr. Malfoy, you are to choose the house you wish to stay the night in, and we will come up with further arrangements afterward.”

Once the Hat was completely removed, Draco rose from the seat, stomach fluttering uneasily again. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He paused, adjusting his posture and figuring out how to present his smirk. He gazed at the faces and the squirming bodies before him. They were excited, interested or curious. It was more or less how he was feeling as well, but more so terrified.

He located Potter and Weasley and his smirk was almost natural. Potter’s eyes shifted to land on him, while Weasley leaned in to say something, which Draco vaguely caught.

“This hasn’t happened before.” The redhead stated lowly.

Before Potter could even think of responding, Draco could not help the slight cockiness rise. He had accomplished what even Harry Potter has not. It gave him a source of pride he thought had been completely extinguished by the Dark Lord. “Impressed, Potter?” His chin rose some as he spoke.

Potter simply made a slight face at him, mouth opening just faintly as if he wanted to retaliate.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you will.” McGonagall's silent command was strong.

Draco simply smirked at Potter a bit longer, but then it crumbled. Who was he to think himself better than Potter?  _ Potter saved the world, while you were a mindless coward.  _ His face morphed into disgust; Draco could feel it. He lightly sniffed, glared and trotted toward the Slytherin table without looking at the others.

He tripped over his own feet briefly, cursing the change in body size, and adjusted himself to finish making his way to the table. He sat down just as the applause started off slow then escalated somewhat. It ended for the next person to go, where they were selected for one house and people cheered and clapped.

The process continued until everyone went, and as far as Draco knew, everyone was sorted accordingly. Potter, Weasley and Granger were still Gryffindorks, his friends in Slytherin were still with him, etcetera.

Everything seemed just as it was, except the underlying current of him being apparently indeterminable. Draco gnawed on his lip, resting his chin on his hand. He stared over at Potter, who was laughing and happy. The young Harry Potter didn’t yet know his world was going to be destroyed within a few years. That thought hurt a little more than he imagined it would.

Guess he figured out what the Hat meant by Hufflepuff qualities. His eyes threatened to burn now, but he shoved the thoughts of crying away. Everything was going to be ruined if things progressed as they had before.

Him, his family, his friends, Potter and his own, Hogwarts itself. Draco pried his eyes away from the Gryffindor table, landing on his full plate. He understood he needed to eat, but his stomach refused to settle, as it had been before he jumped in and saved Potter. It has been like that since Voldemort began to reside in his manor.

He pushed his plate away, glancing to his sides to settle on his two main friends, Crabbe and Goyle. The recent loss sparked into his chest. It was bittersweet seeing them again. Somewhere deep inside his mind, his thoughts settled on:  _ No one is going to die this time.  _ It was a stupid thought, hence it being hidden, but it was something he wanted.

He craved to get through this upcoming war with no or minimal loss of life. That thought suddenly surfaced, and although Draco was worried about whether or not being capable of succeeding himself, he knew that would be his goal in the future.

If he was stuck in the past, might as well help the good side this time. His heart thudded in fear of the implications, but he angrily shook his head.

_ No more cowardice. _

He turned away from his friends, who were already asking him questions and turning to him throughout the meal with grins. He glanced to the Great Hall entrance, wishing to head on his own, but not allowing himself to get up. It would draw too much attention.

Instead he would wait until they all started to get up. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled, stealing his resolve. He was  _ not  _ going to be a coward any longer.

_ And  _ Potter would finish off Voldemort like before, but better than that.

Draco would make sure of it.

His eyes snapped open, determination finally sending his eyes sparking in a way they haven’t in a long time. It quickly faded but it was there nonetheless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight Panic Attack in this chapter
> 
> Hello everyone! Thank you all for your comments, leaving kudos and bookmarking this work. I really appreciate responses! Here is another chapter. What do you think?  
> (In addition, I will respond later to the wonderful comments on last chapter as soon as I can. I read them, but unfortunately did not get the opportunity to reply. However, expect those replies within the week!)

His eyes bore into the ceiling above him as he lay silent in bed. He still couldn’t fathom the bizarre idea rolling around in his head.

_Time travel._

The mere thought was astonishing, and Draco Malfoy could hardly believe it. Some part of him denied it, thinking that he would fall asleep one night only to wake up the next day to destruction and chaos.

It would be like he never left, never escaped the future awaiting everyone. It was as if he was shown another chance to alter the past, save people and preserve his family name, only for it to be cruelly ripped away.

A false promise, a false second chance, simply a dream from a boy that had no future, that was what all this would represent and nothing more.

The never settling unease in his stomach increased fractionally, and his heart thudded a little louder in his ears. He swallowed harshly, shaking his head soon after.

“Relax, Malfoy,” he encouraged himself, a near breeze even to his own ears.

It had already been a few days, but he still remained in this strange situation. Even if he managed to briefly fall asleep, which he only did the second night for a few hours, his reality didn’t abruptly change again. This Hogwarts and the younger somewhat recognizable faces never dissolved in front of his eyes.

They remained clear as ever, as clear as the rising panic that threatened to consume him one of these days.

He exhaled shakily, body quivering ever so slightly, as his mind came back to him. His eyes clenched closed as he tried to breathe in slower. His brain was a bundle of negative emotions that refused to quit, refused to lift off his chest most of the time. More prominent at night, the terror made him quake and nearly run down the hallways he paced at night.

No matter how many times he told himself to keep calm and focus on his objective, he still felt as if he was being pulled underwater. He struggled, and then he tried to breathe. Usually it helped, but sometimes he wondered if it was his last time at successfully bottling his emotions.

Sometimes, he wondered if it was his last successful breath at all.

Draco gasped in another quiet breath, eyes stinging some in the darkness of the Slytherin dormitory. _Breathe; don’t overreact; don’t be a prat,_ he coached himself, like a mantra - like he could simply order his frantic thoughts to be silent - like he wasn’t _terrified_. His brain startled and drifted back to his previous thought because that was what he was: terrified.

Beyond measure, Draco Malfoy was actually terrified.

The future, his past and the present weighed on him from all directions, pressing him down from all sides. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to ignore his racing heart and his blurry vision. He chalked up the blurriness to the darkness surrounding him and the racing heart to a potential side effect of time travel, even though he knew neither were true.

Draco could have snorted at his life, if he could catch his breath again and if the Slytherins weren’t all asleep. That, and the fact that no one needed to know his current predicament caused him to remain as quiet as possible.

How would he explain that he’s from the future without being admitted to an asylum or being stared at like he was meant to be thrown away? How could he potentially explain without being used for what he knows?

The latter question worried him most.

He truly didn’t know who he could trust with his secret. He didn’t know who he could burden with his knowledge without sounding crazy or pathetic either.

His thoughts scattered to finally land on the thought of Potter. Eventually he would probably have to tell Potter some _“future”_ events, just to accomplish his mission, but the thought caused his mostly empty stomach to heave. Alongside that thought came another round of anxiety at what would happen if they all found out his _own_ dirty secrets.

He could barely bear the thought, and his chest ached in response as his breath stuttered again. _You’re going to mess this up_ , his mind supplied his fear helpfully. _You can’t even get through the first week before going bonkers. It’s not like you can do anything, anyways. You’re a filthy Death Eater, and that’s what you always will be. You’re no bloody hero._

 _I’m no hero_ , it rang through his head, true as him being indeterminable now or his last name being tarnished in the upcoming war.

He inhaled to cause his breath to stop altogether as he rose from the bed, refusing to breathe until he was safely outside earshot of any Slytherin who were possibly out of bed at the ungodly hour. After he finally allowed himself to breathe, he gasped and gasped, hands clenching and eyes tearing as he fought against his emotions.

He had to halt in his walking, holding against the wall in a desperate attempt at blending in just in case a prefect appeared and witnessed the scene he was causing.

 _Stop being a pathetic pi--_ He tried to get his mind to realize that this wouldn’t be any help, and that he was honestly being pathetic. Although he understood all that, he still couldn’t reign in his emotions. The thought of calming himself shattered, and a broken sob escaped his throat on its own accord. It was piercing in the deafening silence surrounding him.

The sobs that followed were even more so, a sort of choking, breathy wet cry that wasn’t swallowed by Draco or the darkness consuming him, no matter how hard either tried.

. . . . .

When he awoke the next morning, he knew he managed to possibly get in a few hours. It wasn’t much but at least he finally calmed down enough to make his way back into his individual room in the Slytherin dormitory after a while.

Draco slowly trudged his way to the Great Hall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who chatted to one another and to Draco’s back. His mind drifted from their conversation, finding its way to the older Crabbe and Goyle he left behind… well the Goyle he left because Crabbe more or less burnt to a crisp.

Draco shook his head at his thoughts, skipping over that and focusing on the thought of their overall friendship. He recalled referring to them more as lackeys and imbeciles than anything, but at the end, after the Fiendfyre enveloped everything, he realized what he would miss. They were his friends, despite Draco’s pompous attitude and their lack of commonsense.

They were his _friends_ . Maybe they were his _only_ friends now that he thought about it, and that thought made Draco frown, thinking back throughout the years in order to figure out how that all happened. He shook his head when an obvious reason appeared.

He had been a prick more often than not.

 _And_ Potter stole all the attention; all the lazy sod did was somehow survive an Avada Kedavra straight to his fugly face.

Draco sighed, nearly running a hand through his hair, but stopping at the last second, momentarily forgetting his current slicked-back hairstyle.

So maybe Draco was mostly a prick, and continues to be one, and Potter wasn’t all that at fault, but still Draco could point the blame. It was easier to do than anything else -- more natural than anything honestly.

But, Draco agreed with everyone else from his future.

Draco Malfoy was a stuck up prat with his head so far up his arse that all he spit out was regurgitated shite from his parents.

Draco’s mouth quirked ever so slightly, nearly snorting again. He truly hated who he had become, and he only now realized after the Dark Lord beat some sense into him by nearly ridding him of everything he once held dear.

Took Draco long enough though to come to that realization, though.

The only positive to all this was that Draco finally discovered what he lacked the first time around, but sadly, he understood that he couldn’t simply flip himself into a nice person. He wasn’t like that. In addition, he knew that his tendencies to pick on Potter and be a complete arse hat aided in pushing for key upcoming events, such as their fly lesson this afternoon.

Draco bit his lip, dreading the encounter. The past few days he was trying to get used to everything, and in a way, he vaguely remembered specifically steering clear of Potter and his insufferable group. They were still insufferable, and always would be, to Draco. He was sure of that.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid them forever. He promised himself to stop being a coward and to do right, and that’s what he was going to do. Plus, they were the main people in the war. They were the heroes that destroyed Voldemort once and for all. Draco was bound to cross paths with them more than once in the upcoming future.

Speaking of them though, as Draco walked into the Great Hall, his friends at his sides, he noticed the group already at the Gryffindor table. It was still odd to see everyone so young, especially Potter and his friends. He caught himself almost staring, going to pull his eyes away when Potter’s blue ones drifted from his friends to locate Draco.

Draco couldn’t help but halt in his steps and force out a smirk, despite him realizing that he didn’t even feel like smirking and that eyes were all over him. They must have been from the beginning, but he just now noticed the slight silence when his presence was known. He straightened his posture, “smug” gaze lazily drifting along the crowd, spying people whispering and looking at him.

The news of being indeterminable was still fresh and new to them all. They were curious, and they were interested in _Draco Malfoy_. If this had happened when he was younger, he would have been ecstatic and his ego would have shot through the roof even more so than before, but that was before everything, before the Dark Lord and way before seventh year.

In his current state, however, Draco hated the feeling of eyes on him, judging him, watching his every move.

It felt like he was back there in the future - back in his sixth year - wondering when people would take notice of him and would figure out he was a Death Eater planning on betraying them all. The feeling had merely been a feeling at the time, except for Potter because he could never leave well enough alone, but now it was a reality.

People were eying him, mostly in intrigue, but nonetheless, it made Draco’s skin crawl. He almost couldn’t suppress his shudder, but he managed to do so, even adding a little saunter in his steps as he traveled over to the Slytherin table.

Technically he wasn’t a Slytherin because the stupid Hat, but that was where he naturally migrated to, although he received interesting news the day after the Sorting Hat called “Indeterminable House”.

Apparently, he could _choose_ his own House.

His first year would consist of figuring out which House appealed to him and fit his personality most, and then he would announce his chosen House later on, at least he had been told he would. He was therefore instructed to travel House to House in order to figure out his best fit and to figure out how they all worked beyond the simple explanation they all received from Professor McGonagall their first day.

In the meantime, each House had a separate single room for him until he decided.

It was an interesting idea, and although Draco favored Slytherin and knew that defying his father on being a Slytherin would not be beneficial, Draco was somewhat excited to get a glimpse into every House’s workings. He would always return to Slytherin, he was sure, but that didn’t mean he had to right away.

Plus, traveling between Houses gave him cover to collect more intel and honestly more of Potter’s soon-to-be friends if Draco was being honest. It would give Potter some friendships and connections to think about, which he would no doubt preserve until his last breath.

Potter is a sentimental person that thrives off of friendships, but is also easily damaged by them; therefore, Potter would protect them all as if they knew each other all their lives. This would assist Draco in the future when the time came to help save someone.

That was Draco’s thought process on the matter, at least.

Also, going from House to House would help Draco be less of an “arse”; allow him to read without people narrowing their eyes; and to get on Potter’s (and his posse’) somewhat good graces, at least enough for them to trust him when the time came.

Draco didn’t falter in his thoughts as he claimed his spot at the table and loaded his plate with food. He grabbed a piece of muffin between his fingers and placed it into his mouth as his brain continued to wander and formulate ideas.

After he thought some more, especially landing back on getting on Potter’s good side, he knew he had his work cut out for him. Potter and him would never be friends, of course - that thought would make Draco laugh aloud if he wasn’t careful - but he hoped they could get to the point of _friendly enough_ that Potter would simply tilt his head in question, but not argue when Draco told him to do something for the sake of his mission.

Draco could only hope and only attempt not to foil his own plans because they were just plans after all. They weren’t the absolute future, and to be completely honest, when Draco thought about Potter, he still had a sour taste in his mouth. It was probably some of that old rivalry coming back, even though it’s only been about three days since he was thrown into the past.

But he wasn’t certain. It could be anything that caused it at this point.

Draco’s head was pounding now as he tried to delve further into his own feelings about the War and about Potter’s actions, but he decided against it. He didn’t want a repeat of last night after all. Instead he admitted to himself that Potter actually succeeded in defeating the Dark Lord and ended the main problem the Wizarding and Muggle communities faced, and he may or may not be slightly grateful for that fact.

_Potter could do it again, and he would too._

Draco took another piece of the muffin with a slight smile at that thought.

He was waiting for it, and to properly see the defeat would make it all worth it. An unwanted thought briefly surfaced, which he promptly shoved away and ignored. He caught the slight silver of doubt if Potter’s victory had been a mere fluke last time, but he refused to let that thought take hold. He refused to allow that to come to fruition anyway.

Potter and his group did it before, and they will accomplish exactly that again. There was no other choice, no other outcome.

Although he pushed that string of thoughts away, Draco’s stomach twisted in a familiar way, resulting in him sighing and gently pushing his plate further away from him. His sour mood had managed to destroy even the tiny bit of appetite he managed to get back.

He rested his chin in his hand again, his other hand laying on the table in a fist, snuggly at his elbow. He bit his lip, hiding his frown behind the action. He honestly hoped his moods would settle at some point since he was currently safe and he didn’t have anyone breathing down his neck and whispering things in his ears, as long as no one counted his father that is.

His father was bound to discover that Draco was classified as Indeterminable and contact him at once. It was not a speech Draco was looking forward to when he returned to the Manor.

Draco’s body automatically tensed up at the mention of his family’s Manor, images of past experiences bubbled up. He grew cold, and his hands started to sweat.

_Oh, god._

He had to go _back_.

He only managed to calm himself with the hope that it wouldn’t feel suffocating and dark when he returned. Voldemort had never taken residence in the Manor before, so Draco wondered if the fear in his chest was unwarranted and would evaporate when he passed the threshold. He didn’t know for sure, but for his own sake, he stated it as if it were fact. He had to believe it or his body would start shaking.

Draco managed to take a deep breath and released it, eyes closed the entire time. He calmed down enough to be able to hear the clatter of utensils and goblets hitting against the tabletop.

He was in Hogwarts. He wasn’t at the Manor.

He was in the past. He wasn’t in his _past_ future.

The last statement would sound vaguely confusing, but Draco understood himself. He escaped that time, and he had been given a second chance.

He had to remember that. He couldn’t dare forget.

Draco didn’t recall what made the transition to wondering if he was in a coma or if he truly time traveled occurred, but he couldn’t help but allow his mouth to quiver up slightly.

The corner of his mouth quirked ever so slightly, and a bubbling in his throat rose and almost surfaced, but was tamped down at the last second. Draco couldn’t laugh in the Great Hall at suspectedly nothing since that would draw too much (well more) attention to him.

However, that didn’t stop him from smirking a bit. A slight upturn of his mouth was bound to bring zero attention to him, and it was only when he glanced up and connected with wary blue eyes that he discovered that it brought _almost_ zero attention.

Draco first froze, smirk immediately dropping, and then he quickly shifted his attention to his forgotten meal.

_Of course out of everyone, it’s bloody Potter!_

Draco forced himself to glance back up at Potter, glaring at him, daring him to do something. He didn’t know what, but he was asking for an excuse to either yell, scoff or smirk over at Potter now. His glare only intensified when Potter’s eyes narrowed back at him, undeterred. Unfortunately, his newly found intensity just caused a reflection of the same level right back at him.

 _Fuck you, Potter._ He spat in his head, abruptly standing up, nearly pushing Crabbe out of his way, and sauntered outside the Great Hall.

Potter was a twat, and he effectively ruined Draco’s returning good mood, and no one had to know it was because the boy had the audacity to never back down. _Stupid Gryffindor’s gonna get killed because of that some day._

As Draco started to nearly stomp his feet in irritation, his brain stopped at a thought related to the previous one: _stupid Gryffindor’s going to survive because of his stupid infuriating bravery some day._

Draco should remember that, and not be so bloody quick to anger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the views, comments, kudos, bookmarks and more. I appreciate them all. Please inform me of anything that could be improved! I love to hear your thoughts or questions!  
> Also let me know if there are any characters you wish to see more of from the other Houses when Draco finally starts going House to House.
> 
> A Side Note: A commenter helped me realize that the eye colors could be misleading. I apologize for that. I meant for no confusion. Anyway, their eyes do not reflect the book's because I am not as familiar with them as the movies. Therefore the looks of the characters are based more on the actors'/actresses' appearances. Draco is still in his past, not in an alternate universe type thing.
> 
> Next Chapter: Finally progressing the story's plot! And more things start changing. Woo!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

Draco mentally started a list of what not to do and what key events he needed to remember, but the fact of doing said things would be tiresome.

For one, not getting as heated when he saw Potter’s face was a bit of an issue after their previous interaction. The glaring contest earlier stuck to them both like Muggle glue. It wasn’t for lack of Draco trying, but when Potter glanced his way in the hall, the obvious distrust and dislike was palpable.

It made Draco want to either choke or be the one to choke _Potter_ \- the self-righteous prat.

Instead, a rock settled in his stomach all the while his mouth snarled and hissed at Potter before he could stop himself. By the end of the day, just before everyone’s fly lesson, Crabbe and Goyle even started participating, saying harsh words about the Savior of the Wizarding World.

If Draco was in a better mood, he would have laughed at dubbing Potter that. To be honest, though, it was true, and Draco kept momentarily forgetting that. Potter may be younger and not at all experienced in Magic, yet he represented something far greater than anyone knew.

Potter would be a _hero_ some day - he would _matter_ much more some day - while Draco would not. If he was lucky, the Malfoy name would still hold some merit to it and Draco’s own name would be at least tolerated in the Wizarding community.

Draco released a sigh at his thoughts, deciding to take notice of the class instructions instead. He followed the other students’ example as they went to stand by their brooms.

While they all lined up to the left of the brooms on the grass, he stared at the rubbish broom they used for first years. They were despicable and loathsome. They resembled mostly a common Muggle broom, ill looking and not worthy to be used by anyone, much less wizards.

And there was that old regurgitated shite he mentioned to himself earlier. He really had to stop allowing his parents’ words the power to corrupt him.

Draco rolled his eyes at himself. Now, he truly was being pathetic. He was angry at himself, annoyed with his parents. Mostly he was simply infuriated at his lack of change, where he directed his anger outward on things that didn’t need it: the broom, Potter, Crabbe, Goyle.

Well, Potter may have deserved it in ways, but not necessarily at this age.

Potter was a little twat of course, but Draco probably gave him multiple reasons to hate and be wary of his actions: randomly smirking, trying to hex him with his eyes, making fun of the Weasel, the usual.

Okay, Draco already deduced that he was still a major prick, but it was more or less fun, except for today.

Instead, it drained him.

He was exhausted and honestly a bit queasy about pushing Potter as much as he was. He was never getting in his good graces if he kept along with his actions, especially if he kept insinuating that Potter was unwanted or worthless.

Draco couldn’t help but feel that he was projecting terms associated with himself, but he would never admit it to anyone, much less Potter.

While the instructor coached the others on how to do everything, Draco waited for her voice to tell them to “place [their] hand[s] over the broom and say up”. He didn’t necessarily need to speak the words, but he did anyways, and the broom easily floated up to his fingertips.

If anyone asked he would deny this to his death, but having a firm grip on the broom, no matter how rough the handle was or how it looked like it already lived through the upcoming war and decided to accompany him back in time, was almost a weight lifted.

He felt surprisingly giddy.

It’s been a long time since that feeling bloomed in his chest.

His heart thudded a few times in his excitement. He couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face. It has been over two years since he even held a broom, much less rode one. He was strangely elated, despite his stomach's objections. He knew what he had to do, but he still found the prospect of simply getting to fly so much more pressing than the reason as to _why_ he had to.

At last, he glanced up from the connection between his hand and the broom, idiotically seeking out Potter and Weasley among the group.

Weasley ended up being chopped in the face by his broom, and Draco almost snorted, instead he simply coughed. That would always get him every time, no matter how many times he witnessed it.

Even the broom knew the Weasel needed a good whack to the face. He could only agree and applaud that something did what it wanted.

He schooled his face as Weasley and Potter bickered. It was brief, but friendly. It sounded so easy and light-hearted that Draco’s own heart clenched at his own version of “bickering” with Potter, which was more or less insulting taunts than anything.

His brain drifted back to his previous thoughts. At least something was doing what it wanted. Draco was still in the process of deciding what he wanted in comparison to what was required of him to ensure a better future.

Meanwhile as Draco pondered to himself, everything around him continued to progress, leading to where Longbottom took to the sky accidentally. As expected, Longbottom inevitably lost control and eventually fell to the ground.

Draco managed to pull himself from his thoughts by something lightly rolling into his shoe. Obviously it was the Remembrall. His blue eyes didn’t leave it for about three seconds as Madam Hooch led Longbottom away to (presumably) the hospital wing.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure he heard her, his attention was directed elsewhere.

He reached down, fingers brushing the toy before he gingerly picked it up. He stared at it without comment, almost tempted to shake it and see whether or not something changed when he did so, just for something else to think about before the next moment. What happened next wasn’t necessarily something he wanted to do, but if he didn’t, Potter might not be selected as Gryffindor’s Seeker.

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Potter’s voice sounded from behind him. The boy’s voice was icy and demanding, just like he remembered.

And that was his cue. Draco forced his smirk to be natural when he turned to Potter. “And why would I give it to you, Potter?”

“Last time I checked, _that_ doesn’t belong to you.” The Gryffindor stated, unblinkingly staring at Draco, eye contact only broken once when he gestured to the toy. He stepped closer.

“Oh, you’re right, Potter.” Draco drawled slowly, seemingly contemplative. He watched as Potter’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and Draco made sure his face was neutral. He brought the Remembrall closer to Potter in an offering.

If he had his way, he would allow Potter to have it. However, Draco was not sure if that was possible. He could give the Remembrall back or he could do exactly what he did last time, toss it far away. He wanted to release the toy, and since his mind was running off the thoughts of want versus necessity, he was so tempted to forgo the next _“big”_ event.

Just before he dropped the toy in Potter’s palm, however, he drew back. He couldn’t chance Potter not being made Seeker as soon as possible. _Don’t say I never did anything for you, Potter._

“You want to know what, _Potter_.” Draco emphasized the last name harshly. “Last time I checked, it doesn’t belong to you either.” He mounted his broom in a fluid motion, making a circle around the group that gathered and purposely bumping the irritating soon-to-be Gryffindor Seeker in his shoulder before Draco rose up into the air. Staying immobile in the air above them, he said aloud. “If you want it so bad, though, come up here and get it yourself.”

After a slight shake of hair, a mount of the first year broom, a brief interaction with Granger and a gentle kick off, Potter was up in the air, headed straight for him. He pulled up in front of Draco, sloppily but better than any other first year could ever accomplish. “Give it here, Malfoy, or I’ll knock you off your broom,” Potter demanded.

Draco could have laughed at the predictability, but instead his lips quirked into another smirk. “What a promise, Potter, but the question is: can your ‘skill’ back up that statement?” He leaned back some on his broom, knowing exactly how far back he could do without plummeting.

Potter looked ready to attempt a shove, only pausing to debate internally. _Stupid Gryffindor and his morals._ If Draco fell from this height, he would probably break a bone or two, but it wasn’t a big deal if it happened. Draco had experienced worse with Hagrid’s bloody chicken, some Death Eaters -- his Aunt too, of course… among others. He really had a messed up history now that he thought about it.

Draco shook his head, returning to the present. “No need to hurt yourself with all that thinking, Potter.” He really shouldn’t be talking, now should he? Ignoring his brain, he tossed the Remembrall once in the air, then caught it. He maneuvered his broom so he could properly throw the Remembrall, glancing over his shoulder as he did. “I’ll make it easy for you: go fetch, Scarhead.” He promptly threw the Remembrall, watching as Potter hesitated briefly at his words then shot through the sky after it.

Just like last time, the speed Potter achieved was astounding on his first flight, nearly fulfilling Potter’s promise of knocking Draco off his broom. And no, Draco would never admit that he was surprised at how adept the other had been upon his _first_ flight. In hindsight, he could see how Potter achieved “youngest Seeker” and how he nearly won each bloody Quiddick game - the talented, overachieving prat he was.

Overachieving, definitely, but talented? Draco supposed he was, but he could barely admit that to himself. Potter was still inadequate and all over the place on his fly; he was still too unshaken about what could go _wrong_ , it was unbelievable. If Draco didn’t know any better, he would say the Gryffindor was going to go _splat_ one of these days. Good thing he knew better then because any second now he would get nervous.

He waited on his broom, watching as Potter’s form got closer and closer to the side of the building. He still didn’t reach the Remembrall yet, and Draco fidgeted briefly. _Come on, Potter, don’t crack your ugly mug off any stones. I don’t need the Chosen One’s death on my conscience._

Another second passed and a thought occurred to Draco. He suddenly worried whether or not he threw it the way he did last time. He almost began to overanalyze his throw when finally - _bloody hell_ finally (Draco could have grown old already in the time it took) - Potter caught the toy.

Potter had nearly toppled over and snapped his broom in half against the stone in the process, but luckily, the Gryffindor merely flipped into a sudden halt as his broom brushed the building.

Draco nearly had a heart attack and yelled at Potter for being reckless. _You git, you could have died, for the sake of a single Remembrall!_ Draco could have his father buy that now if he wished. The Remembrall didn’t matter in the slightest. It was a simple insignificant toy.

Draco blinked as he lowered himself to the ground. Honestly, he could ask his father for anything now, and they could afford it. That thought finally registered in his mind.

It was yet another shock from being brought to the past, and like most others, he was unsure how he felt about it. He had so much at his fingertips honestly, so much he could do and he could have, but that paled in comparison to what he needed. He felt everything was so insignificant in the wake of War, extremely different than his first time around when he got upset for not getting what he wanted and wanting everything in sight.

If he wanted to be Seeker and have the best broom, he received it and then some. If he wanted his favorite sweets, he got them in the mail every day until he was satisfied. If he wanted to be someone’s friend, he tended to get that as well, all except Potter that is. _Frigging bullheaded Gryffindor._

_“I can spot the wrong sorts, thanks.”_

Granted Potter was right, but still. People called Draco Malfoy an arse, yet they haven’t seen the Golden Boy Harry Potter when he labeled someone an enemy (or a bully). He’s quite the little shit when he disliked people.

Draco could attest to that, which almost caused him to rub where he used to have scars from the bathroom incident. He stopped himself at the last second though, slipping forlornly off his broom and spying Potter’s approaching form. The Gryffindors of the group began cheering, and Draco understood that he could start tuning them out again.

He promptly did so, heading back into his mental list that he was compiling. He couldn’t dare let his knowledge get into the wrong hands, _and_ he couldn’t dare let anything slip his mind, no matter how potentially unimportant.

Anything could matter after all.

. . . .

Another notch on his mental list was the first time he saw Voldemort, the time in the Forbidden Forest when he and Potter (and his group) got detention.

He remembered the fear, the darkness surrounding him and the weight of the lantern in his hand. He recalled running away and leaving Potter alone to face Voldemort, which he learned later was the figure drinking the unicorn’s blood. He didn’t know that at the time, but either way, Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust at the memory.

It all could have ended there because Draco was a sniveling coward, spooked by a mere image of the Dark Lord. Potter could have died and no chance for the Order and their cause to become more than a simple thought -- all because the Gryffindor was murdered, and Draco Malfoy basically helped end the git.

Put that as the Prophet’s headline: _Helpless Chosen One Dies, Young Malfoy Helps Assist in the Future Murder of Millions_. Draco was certain the _now_ “indeterminable one” would rise to stardom in the most unfortunate way if that breached the papers. Voldemort would be handed the world on a silver platter, too.

Luckily Potter was bloody lucky sometimes, but unfortunately he was cursed all the other times. There was simply no in between.

Draco rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked, properly ignoring the chittering morons behind him. They could be downright stupid at times, but Draco was secretly glad they continued to migrate to him; it was almost flattering really. No matter where Draco had been selected (or where he decided to go -- which would be Slytherin of course, he couldn’t diverge that far from the past) Crabbe and Goyle would be there.

If only they would grow up faster and have greater wits about them, Draco would be even happier, but as it turned out, he would have to wait for the change if it were to occur. Speaking of change, however, the newly developing change was about to appear once more.

It wasn’t a change Draco liked, he realized.

Crabbe and Goyle had perked up at spying a familiar young Gryffindor, who had the ginger Weasel by his side. Granger was not currently with them, but that was not always the case if Draco recalled. At first, Granger and those two weren’t attached to each others’ hips or whatever Granger and Weasley ended up attaching to one another later on. That train of thought was quickly pushed away, heading back to the overall relationship of the three, a safer destination in all honesty.

The three’s relationship appeared to grow mostly around the Halloween feast, that, and of course upon saving Hogwarts from Voldemort and Quirrell, from what Draco’s mind recollected.

A life or death experience _could_ bond people together. Shared experiences and asinine epiphanies tended to explode in people during the strain. Draco could mark down a few mental notes as to when those occurred, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to delve on those.

In fact, those didn’t seem to matter now, considering most might not be in the foreseeable future - or so Draco hoped. He dreadfully hoped most wouldn’t happen, but in order to make sure they don’t, he had to alter the future himself, and sitting by and contemplating everything wouldn’t assist him.

It would obviously help to think, of course, but not to an extreme. He has seen when people don’t think and the end result of that mistake. Potter, for example, was not the most thoughtful person, and if he would have used his brain for something other than a kickboard or something that took up space, then Draco would have to worry for the other side’s sake.

_The other side’s sake_ , that rang in Draco’s head. _The_ other _side._ If Draco wasn’t thinking about fixing things and not taking part as a Death Eater before, _that_ cemented it. Draco Malfoy did not belong as a Death Eater, but instead, he belonged to Team Potter.

Draco’s face became outwardly disgusted. He didn’t like the sound of that.

Team Malfoy sounded more appealing.

He almost snorted again. He had been doing that a decent amount lately, and he should probably cease to limit the attention he was receiving, albeit that was difficult considering his status.

Anyway, he was doing this his way.

He would limit the amount of deaths (Crabbe would live, obviously), while he made sure to uphold his family name (his father wouldn’t be discovered or be placed in Azkaban).

He nearly smirked, but it didn’t even make it as a quirk to his mouth once he heard Goyle sneer out something about Potter’s parents, well lack of more specifically, causing a familiar look of hurt in Potter’s eyes, mixed with the indignation that always followed.

“That’s enough, Goyle,” Draco’s tone came out more curt and clipped than even he expected. “You can’t overuse the same joke. It loses meaning after the first fifteen times.” Everyone else was silently surprised. Draco continued with a slow drawl, “Use your own imagination next time instead of repeating what you heard. Be an individual.” He waved a hand, trying to ignore the group gathering by them. “Come, Crabbe, Goyle. Potter’s being a bore. Let’s find something more entertaining.” He sauntered away, not bothering to wait for his two friends to scurry after him.

They always were such obedient and puppy-like friends when they were young. Although his younger self would have smirked and flaunted like a peacock at their attention and willingness (in fact, Draco was pretty sure he had), Draco only felt nauseated now. It was no wonder they followed around their parents’ ideals and rushed to be part of the Death Eaters. He couldn’t explain himself out of this because he was right alongside them - and even beyond their willingness - to be a proper Death Eater.

He was the worst mindless follower he could think of.

Although some of his actions stemmed from protecting his family, a great deal of it was because he truly once believed the nonsense Voldemort and his parents lived by. He followed those lies and deceived everyone during his sixth and seventh years. He got people killed for those ideas he no longer believed in. Additionally, he helped murder people for things he may not have even fully believed in.

He wasn’t sure considering how his mind was all over the place, but there was some part of him that understood Granger’s skills and status weren’t what he thought. Granger was smarter than he allowed himself to admit, so was the so-called “blood traitor” Weasley, although sometimes Draco wondered about the redhead, and Potter was more intelligent than Draco gave him credit for, as well.

The three had managed to kill Voldemort after all, and Draco hadn’t figured out how yet either - a secret Draco was honestly concerned that he would never uncover. He could say he wasn’t curious, but that was a lie. However, he did not necessarily require that knowledge.

That was the trio’s mission. Draco had his own.

He made another mental note in reference to the trio’s own mission: befriend the insufferable group, well hopefully at least _tolerate_ the group more. That would be a more practical idea: put more effort into being friendly instead of buddying up to the trio.

Secondly, he noted the Troll incident, where their bond most likely solidified, on Halloween.

Two upcoming missions in Draco Malfoy’s long (overdue) mission for exceptionality.

Draco was feeling a bit better about himself and the circumstances, unfortunately that did not last.

. . . .

Draco could in no way find a suitable way to connect with Potter. He was going mad. He was almost yanking out his hair.

Every time he attempted to be civil or connect, the old urge to tease came out, which Potter and Weasley utterly despised. It kept setting him further back. It wasn’t his fault that they didn’t understand Draco’s bickering from his bullying, and it wasn’t his fault that it lightened his spirits to bother the two.

He limited his interactions with the two, yet they still seemed offended. Draco truly could not figure it out. It exasperated him to know that he was failing. He blamed them. They must lack proper human interaction or the decency to understand Draco wasn’t as bad as he used to.

Of course Draco should give them slack, considering they didn’t know him from before, but he didn’t. He refused to allow them that win over him.

He wanted to knock some sense into them, but that would force him back yet again in his pursuit of tolerating the group and them, in turn, tolerating him. He just couldn’t win, that was what he deduced.

Draco Malfoy was not going to succeed.

He nearly flinched at the implications if he were to fail. He shook his head to clear it since it wasn’t an option. He had to succeed in some way. If he couldn’t form some sort of connection, he’d have to go to the opposite side of the spectrum: annoy, humiliate and force them to do what he wished. He very well could, but he didn’t quite want to.

However, it was all based on necessity rather than desires. Draco was starting to figure that out. That was what screwed him over the first time, and he refused to allow that mistake again.

Nonetheless, forcing Potter and his group would be one of the last possibilities. If all else failed, he would resort to that. Even the thought caused him to nearly throw up in the grass by his feet. It was a good thing he hadn’t been eating properly to do so then.

If he resorted to drastic measures, he would be no better than Voldemort. Manipulating them must be the ultimate last resort.

There were other chances to connect though, Draco was certain.

Potions existed, a wide range of them could suit his needs, as could clabbering Potter upside the head until only sense remained or telling Potter - no, Draco immediately made that thought crash and burn. He couldn’t dare tell Potter about the future. That would only end in disaster, as would everything else he had thought of.

The only idea that remained was by some off chance an actual occurrence presented itself, where they all were on common ground and not hurling insults and glaring at each other. He just had to figure out what that occurrence could possibly be, and it finally came to him.

At last, a positive idea formed and stuck with him.

He smiled to himself, raising his head slightly and almost not noticing the students watching him. He wondered why he didn’t think of this to begin with.

_Flying_.

He would challenge Potter to fly with him. The stupid Gryffindor could never resist a challenge or anything that involved flying or Quidditch, which was something Draco could somewhat relate to before Voldemort and Death Eaters and the madness with Dumbledore his sixth year and the hecticness of his seventh.

Therefore, flying and Quidditch it was.

Draco just hoped Potter would be ready for a challenge because he was about to get one.


End file.
